do!

_August 28th_.
The spinal chair arrived yesterday when I was at the Lodge. Father
cried when he saw it. I hate to see a man cry, and got out of the way
as soon as possible, and, when I came back, mother and he were sitting
hand in hand in the little parlour, looking quite calm, and kind of
sadly happy. I think bearing things together has brought them nearer
than they have been for years, so they certainly have found their
compensation.

The doctor says Vere is to live out of doors, so this morning she was
carried out on her mattress, laid flat on the chair, and wheeled to a
corner of the lawn. As I had prophesied, she arranged all details
herself. She wore a soft, white serge dressing-gown sort of
arrangement, which was loose and comfortable, and a long lace scarf put
loosely over her head, and tied under the chin, instead of a hat.
Everything was as simple as it could be. Vere had too much good taste
to choose unsuitable fineries, but, as she lay with the sunlight
flickering down at her beneath the screen of leaves, she looked so
touchingly frail and lovely that it broke your heart to see her. Her
hair lay in little gold rings on her forehead, the face inside the lace
hood had shrunk to such a tiny oval. One had not realised, seeing her
in bed, how thin she had grown during these last few weeks!

We all waited on her hand and foot, and walked in procession beside her,
gulping hard, and blinking our eyes to keep back the tears whenever we
had a quiet chance, and she laughed and admired the trees, and said
really it was the quaintest sensation staring straight up at the sky;
she felt just like "Johnny Head in Air" in the dear old picture-book!
It was a delightful couch--most comfortable! What a lazy summer she
should have! If there was one thing she loved more than another, it was
having meals in the open air--all in the same high, artificial note
which she had used ever since her accident.

We all agreed and gushed, and said, "Yes, darling," "Isn't it, darling?"
"So you shall, darling," and we had tea under a big beech-tree, and
anyone might have thought we were quite jolly; but I could see father's
lip quiver under his moustache, and mother looked old. I hate to see
mother look old!

Just as we had finished tea a servant came up to tell father that Will
and Mr Carstairs had called to see him. They had too much good feeling
to join us where